


Dinner for Three

by misura



Category: White Collar
Genre: Community: polyship, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best laid dinner plans of FBI agents and con men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner for Three

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to the Polyship Fic Exchange in January 2011

Peter's made dinner reservations at some Italian place - it looks nice from the outside, a bit more expensive than they'd usually have gone for, perhaps, before Peter started feeling like he has got something to prove to her (he doesn't), someone to impress (Neal never is).

"Table forty-two. At half past seven," Peter says and even though he's got his back turned to her, Elizabeth can practically see the frown on his face. "Look, I know we're a _little_ late." Only fifteen minutes, which is positively punctual for Peter.

"Sorry, sir."

Elizabeth hasn't really been paying attention before; she's not sure if the problem is that they're late or that there's been a mix-up with the reservations or something else altogether. "What's going on?" Neal will have been paying attention, she knows. It's how he is - never ignoring those he's with and yet oh so very good at keeping tabs on everything else that's going on around him.

She hasn't yet figured out if it's because he used to be a con man or because he's a consultant for the FBI now. She's not sure anymore if the difference is all that great, aside from the whole legal thing.

"Our reservation isn't on the books," Neal stage-whispers. "On file, that is." There are no books lying on the desk, not even one for famous people and not to famous people to sign by way of proof that they had dinner here.

Peter whips out a piece of paper. It hasn't got the FBI logo printed on it, which Elizabeth considers to be sheer luck. "Look, I wrote it down. See?"

"I was there when he made the call," Neal goes on.

Elizabeth considers if she should be insulted on Peter's behalf at Neal's implication (however indirect) that Peter might have forgotten to make the reservation and is now trying to brazen it out, bully someone into giving them a table without a reservation. "Can't you do something?"

"Right here, it says: nineteen hundred thirty, and then there's a four and a two."

Neal shrugs. "Hard to pull something off with Peter right there."

Elizabeth wonders when Peter being 'right there' became a reason for Neal _not_ to 'pull something'. Possibly, in this case, it's simply a matter of male pride, of Neal not wanting to step in when Peter's clearly trying to settle things (the fact that it's not really working being neither here nor there).

She could ask, she supposes. Neal would probably tell her. On the other hand, she's hungry, and there's a line of other hungry people forming behind Peter. "Do it. _Now_."

Neal responds well to the word 'please'. He responds even better to orders, sometimes. It takes him perhaps five seconds to straighten his tie and then he's off - not to join Peter, but rather to head for the door marked 'Staff only'. Elizabeth makes a mental note to coax the story out of him later, once they've gotten their table and their dinner.

Peter looks around just in time to miss Neal. Elizabeth puts a smile on her face, noticing Peter looks about ready to call it quits. Neal can work miracles, but he's probably going to need more than barely a minute. "Is there a problem, honey?" She smiles at the reservations clerk first, then at Peter.

"Not at all," Peter says, smiling back. "Just a bit of a problem with our reservation. I'm sure it'll all get straightened out quickly enough."

"I'm very sorry, Mr Burke, Mrs. Burke, but as I've already told you - oh."

It's a special kind of 'oh'. Elizabeth thinks she would recognize it anywhere by now.

"What? What is it?" Peter does not, clearly.

"It would appear someone has simply switched the numbers. Table twenty-four is all yours. Please accept a bottle of wine on the house by way of apology for the confusion."

Peter looks suspicious, but he allows Elizabeth to drag him along to the table where Neal is already sitting, waiting, laying it on a bit thick for someone who claims to be shy about pulling things, Elizabeth thinks.

"You cook?"

Neal raises both eyebrows. "Here?"

Peter scowls. He still hasn't sit down, so Elizabeth remains standing as well. "No, not here."

"Yes, Peter, I can cook." Neal sighs deeply, as if he already knows where Peter is going with this. It's more than Elizabeth can say for herself.

"Great. You're going to cook us dinner," Peter says. "Your place. Well, June's place."

"Honey - " Elizabeth starts, because there's being honest and being rigid. Peter shushes her with a finger on her lips. Neal is already getting up.

"I bet you're good," Peter says. "A perfectionist like you." He's smiling, a nice, genuinely happy smile that makes Elizabeth feel like she's being difficult, worrying too much.

Neal smiles a smile that's exactly like Peter's. "People have been known to enjoy my culinary creations, yes." His tone implies he does not expect Peter to be among those people.

"I bet."

Neal pulls a basket of bread out of nowhere and holds it out to Elizabeth. "You're on."


End file.
